


Monsters

by Loscaris



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Junkenstein AU, Minor Character Death, Murder, Name-Calling, Torturing, Violence, not yet anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loscaris/pseuds/Loscaris
Summary: A group of villagers decide to take their revenge on Dr. Junkenstein.





	

The screams had died down a while ago. The town lay as black, burned teeth against the redding sky. Thick lines of smoke made the silhouette of the Lord's castle look like a menacing shadow, looming above trees and rooftops. It was quiet - only a lonely sound of a crow broke the surrounding silence. As the sun fell beyond the horizon, the wind grew stronger. It stroke the old stone walls and made the forest howl. The night was growing as cold as it was dark.

He was uncertain of how long he had just been standing on his own doorstep, eyes locked forward in awe as he kept repeating the events in his head. The terrified shrieks of the villagers and the crackling sound of the burning buildings he had heard, and the fires he had seen. It was all so perfectly wrong. He was still trembling with excitement, blood rushing through his veins, knowing it had been his doing. Knowing that the villagers had paid the price for laughing at the doctor Jamison Junkenstein.

He chuckled quietly at the thought. He ran his fingers through his messy hair. While he certainly hadn't exactly planned it to go this way, he was quite enjoying the turn of events.

"Now who's the fool, o' yer highness?" Jamison smirked as he made a mocking bow towards the castle, good arm behind his back. But as the high wore of his smile began to fade. An empty feeling clawed at his mind and he suddenly felt very lonely. What would happen next? Everything was so silent again. There was no sign of his creation and as the oncoming darkness started to cover the land, it hid any marks of the rampage with it. Jamison looked at the town for a while longer before returning back into the darkness of his home, leaving the door open behind him - hoping that his creation would come home.

Having lived alone for a long time, Jamison was used to the loneliness and the silence. His automatons weren't any relief, being unable to speak, yet now he felt lonelier than ever. He headed into his laboratory, looking at the mess the creature had left behind. Paper notes and broken vials were scattered all over the floor. Jamison ignored them and wandered to the ruined examination table. The thing had had a mind of its own, just like a living person. Jamison frowned, a silent huff escaping his mouth. He was not ready to let go of his creation just yet. He'd find him himself. 

Jamison quickly hurried over to his working desk and lit the candle on top of it. Most of the papers were full of notes and scribbles, but he managed to find a mostly clean one and began to draw. Of course, darting outside into the night wasn't an option. While the doctor was certain the beast had left a trail behind it, it'd be difficult to track in the dark. He'd need a source of light, and something to help him-.

A loud thud made him freeze. The sound came from the hallway, as if someone had dropped something heavy. He turned around, only to be greeted by the empty room behind him. It was difficult to see anything in the faint light of the candle. There were some windows near the roof, but they were small and the moonlight couldn't quite reach through them. His eyes scanned the room, but he saw no one. After a moment of consideration, he carefully limped towards the hallway. He felt a cold breeze coming from the front entrance. The door was still open, and dim moonlight came through. It was just enough to reveal the edges of the furniture and walls. The place was as empty as the rest of the building. For a moment he had been hopeful that his creation had decided to return. He scoffed, ready to head back to his working desk.

Someone threw a rope over his head. He saw it pass right in front of his eyes. Jamison had no time to react before it was pulled tight around his neck, cutting off his breath. He couldn't see his attacker and a million thoughts raced through his mind all at once. It had to be the Lord: He had sent his guards to get him and they were going to drag him to the castle, lock him up and hang his body from the rafters - or maybe they had simply been ordered to bring his severed head back to the Lord. 

He let out a strangled wheeze, fingers desperately trying to dig their way under the rope to ease its grip. It was starting to tore his skin open. He was pulled backwards, his legs searched for a better foothold on the slippery floor to keep his balance - someone was trying to force him down on the floor. Jamison tried to fight it, but he knew it was in vain. He struggled to breathe. He felt his mind go numb when he started to run out of oxygen. His body grew weaker until he was just barely standing. His legs failed under him and he fell to the floor with a loud thump. The impact was enough to hurt his shoulder and head. The rope loosened enough for him to draw in few frantic breaths. He coughed and panted, breathing was feeling more painful than relieving. As the air filled his lungs once more, he was able to think. His metallic fingers found their way under the rope, keeping it away from tightening again around his neck. Jamison struggled to keep himself together. He saw glass shards scattered on the floor and quickly grabbed one with a trembling hand. It cut his glove, but he ignored the slight pain and violently shoved it under the rope and pulled. It snapped open and Jamison was free. He touched the aching skin on his neck with his good arm, still shaking from the shock. But the moment of relief was short.

A harsh kick made him roll onto his stomach. He whined as he was pushed flat on the ground. It felt like someone had dropped a boulder on him, threating to break his ribs. Jamison tried to grab the person holding him down, but his arm was quickly yanked away and slammed against the floor. There were shapes moving in the shadows, slowly closing in. He shrieked, kicking and squirming trying to free himself as more hands came down to hold him still. He was surrounded by voices: Quiet whispers that soon turned into angry yelling.  
"Hold him still, damn it!" was the first sentence Jamison could make out over the sea of curses.  
"Watch the leg!"  
"Bring me the god damn rag already!" Someone tried to grab Jamison by the chin, but he was quick to dig his teeth into the flesh. A strong taste of blood took over his mouth when he pushed his teeth deeper, refusing to let go, even though the arm tried to pull away and its owner howled in pain. It took a kick straight into the doctor's face to force him to let go. The hit was enough to break his nose with a sickening crack. His vision went black for a moment, but he was quick to recover, a rush of adrenaline keeping him going. Blood trailed down his chin to the floor. He saw the man stumble backwards, scoffing as he held his bleeding arm.

They were villagers. Jamison could tell by their poor appearances. Men filled with anger, thirsty for a revenge. Jamison got angry at himself for falling so easily in their ambush. He should've closed the door. Locked it. He should've known they would come for him.  
"God damn monster!" the man cursed, seemingly trying to sound brave, but his voice was shivering as much as the man himself. His hand was still bleeding, though he had rolled a piece of cloth over it. "Someone put a muzzle on that... ...thing!"

Jamison spat blood in his direction. His head was pulled back by the hair. They went to try open his mouth, and Jamison shut his mouth in response.  
"What's wrong, rat, did you lost your desire to bite?" The same man dared to come closer again. Jamison snarled. His uneven lines of teeth remained pinned tightly together, the villagers fighting hard to get him to open his mouth. They could have, in time, but they weren't that patient. Something cold dug deep into Jamison's back. He heard the sound of fabric being torn and a wave of raw pain rolled over him. He screamed. The villagers took their opportunity and forced a dirty rag into his mouth, pulling it behind his teeth. It made him cough. He tried to force it out with his tongue, but it wouldn't budge. He felt blood dripple down his back from the fresh stab wound.  
"Good boy", the man taunted as he crouched down in front of him. "Wasn't that difficult, was it now?" Jamison wrinkled up his nose, eyes squinted. How badly he wanted to bash the man's face in, break that crooked nose of his. He appeared to be the leader of the group, at least the only one who dared to talk. Jamison would take him down first, as soon as he could get himself free - if he could.  
He saw blades gleaming in the dim light, one of them was dripping blood. His courage started to fade away, replaced with fear that made him tremble. He sunk his teeth into the gag.

Blades came down, threats turned into actions. They grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head up to smash it back against the stone floor. They tore at his coat, knives jabbing through his clothes breaking skin. They spat insults and called him by names, Jamison felt as if he was drowning under the yelling. He couldn't make out the words over the ringing in his ears. There was no way to fight back, as his limbs remained pinned against the floor and he could barely move a muscle. A hand found its way onto his right arm. Jamison managed to force his head around to look, pleading with his eyes for them to stop. A blade was struck into his prosthetic. It was twisted until wires were cut open, his fake arm going limp. He hissed, unable to do anything but watch as his arm was torn apart. The violent separation cut the skin at the end of his stump. Didn't take long before they were at his leg, pulling and twisting it until he was bleeding, blood stains covering his pants and making a puddle under him. Jamison swallowed back a scream. He hoped the prosthetic would come off, just to ease the pain. It did, eventually, the sore remains of his leg fell limply down. The beating came to an end, kicks ceased from his sides, blades retreated from his back, but the hands remained, holding him still even after he'd stopped struggling. His moans died down, turning into pained breathing and quiet sobs. He hadn't even noticed he had started crying. Heavy tears rolled down his cheeks, smudging the blood on his chin.

"Bring the axe!" Jamison's eyes burst open and he tried to get up. The sudden movement caught the villagers by surprise, and he was able to break free. But he was weary and missing a leg. He couldn't get all the way up before they were grabbing him again and forced back down. His lack of limps made it difficult to fight back, but he managed to land a kick on someone behind him.  
"Quickly!" a voice urged next to him. They pushed his good arm straight against the ground and pulled his torn sleeve up to the shoulder. A belt was fastened around his arm just over the elbow.  
"I want him to see this", a voice hissed right above him. The axe was handed forward, the head slowly moving towards his arm. The dull end tapped skin ever so softly, before the edge was slowly lifted to the air. Jamison wanted to yell something, but the words got stuck in his throat. He wanted to fight, he wanted to break free, but he was beyond exhaustion. As the axe was rised above his arm, he briefly forgot how to breathe. Sighing, he closed his eyes tight.

There was a scream.  
There was blood.  
But it wasn't Jamison's.

No one was holding onto him anymore, but he was too exhausted to get up. He curled up, pressing his remaining hand tightly against his chest protectively. Someone howled in pain, so loud and clear it made him flinch. He opened his eyes to see what was happening. People were running around in chaos, most darting out of the room. There were a few bodies lying on the ground, their wide, empty eyes staring at nothing. Their faces reflected their last moment of horror. It became very quiet as the last remaining soul had fled from the building. Then he could hear the heavy steps behind him. A shadow moved over Jamison. He could hear the heavy breathing and a strong reek of death filled his nose.  
He looked up.

The three meter monstrosity of a man loomed above him. It was built from body parts attached together with large stiches. Some of the seams had opened, blood and chemicals running down the scarred skin. The crooked hook on its hand was still dripping with blood. While its face was covered with a mask made of a dead pig, Jamison could feel it stare right at him. His mouth hung silently open. He didn't dare to move, but he couldn't stop himself from shaking. He heard the steady breathing grow louder as the monster crouched down. Its large hand reached for him. Jamison shrieked and attempted to crawl away before the monster's fingers wrapped around his body effortlesly. He was lifted from the ground as if he weighed nothing. His hand tried to grab at the monster, fingers sliding on the blood-covered skin. The monster helt him tightly, turning him until he was facing towards it. Jamison could swear his heart was about to break through his ribcage. The monster just looked at him. While it certainly had shown some level of intelligence, he had no idea if it was capable of actual thinking. It felt like it was pondering something. Its grip tightened, and Jamison gasped when the large nails pressed against his wounds. Monster tilted its head. To Jamison's surprise, he was lowered back to the floor. The monster backed away from him. It let out a low grunt as it turned and left the doctor be. It walked with slow steps, yet it seemed tense, looking around as it left. Jamison was unable to take his eyes off the creature as it disappeared to the darkness.

He let out a long breath he had been holding without noticing. His racing heart was finally starting to calm down and his trembling fading. He willed himself to relax, sucking in cold air as his wounds stung. He took a moment to lie there, gathering his energy, before attempting to sit up. It was slow, but he took his time, dragging himself up to lean against a wall. The cold stone felt good against the wounds. It eased the stinging. His laboratory was even messier than before, blood and bodies decorating the floor. He frowned at the sight of his separated prosthetics laying on the floor. The arm was obviously broken, he'd have to rebuild it, but at least the leg seemed to be in one piece. He ran his good hand over his sore leg stump. He noticed the belt above his elbow. He had completely forgotten about it being there. He wouldn't be able to remove it without his other arm, so he'd have to make friends with it. Jamison leaned his head back, sighing. 

Had it not been for his creation, he'd be a dead man. He doubted it had returned to save him on purpose, yet he couldn't come up with a logical reason for the beast to spare him. He knew nothing of his creation's intelligence, nor its way to think. If it truly could remember Jamison as its creator, why wouldn't it stay with him? His head was aching as it was, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it. There was so much he didn't know. He hadn't even given it a name. Jamison knew he couldn't stay. More would come for him, and next time his monster might not be there to save him. He'd have to patch himself up, fix his arm and leave the town. He knew he wouldn't have time to recover perfectly, but as long as he could get himself into walking shape, it would do. Only if he knew where to go.

Everything was so silent again. It had felt so surreal to see the big monster again. He had been terrified, of course, the beast could've easily snapped his spine in half, but he felt proud. It was his monster. His creation. He wanted to see it again. Jamison burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the walls. It made his stomach hurt, but he couldn't stop it. His mind was overflowing with chaotic thoughts, threatening to turn him into the madman the villagers saw him to be. Something had ignited within him. An idea. The skeleton of a plan.

He knew what he was going to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my Beta Reader: Flash! Couldn't have done this without her.  
> -she mad this une sentence. is ver gud


End file.
